WhoLock Doomsday
by Seklainer
Summary: This is what happens when I'm left with Johnlock and Doctor Who feels all mixed up into a giant bubble of angst.. In other words- the last few scenes from 'Doomsday' with Johnlock instead of Tenth/Rose.
1. Doomsday

This is an edited version of Doomsday where I've replaced the Rose/Tenth relationship with some Johnlock. It was sort of inspired by this... ** watch?v=Ys_lTdsmJVk&list=FLu2an_a8PP0yVDT3ekQpjPg&index=3&feature=plpp_video **which you should definitely watch if you haven't already.

Any mistakes are my own, and will be blamed on the fact that I have a cold :D

**Bold** is John's narration.

Unfortunately, I own nothing. Sherlock belongs to ACD and Stephen Moffat and the BBC, Doctor Who (The 10th era) belongs to RTD and the BBC.

* * *

John pounded on the white wall in front of him, "Take me back! Take me back, please, just take me back."

He leaned his forehead against it briefly before turning to the three figures behind him.

Lestrade pulled the yellow button from around his neck, and pressed it once.

"It's stopped working," he said, "he did it. He closed the breach."

John's face crumpled as he turned back to face the wall. "No," he whispered running his hand down the expanse of white. He took a shaky breath and closed his eyes, "No."

* * *

Sherlock walked slowly towards the wall. He stood in front of it, placing one palm flat against it and gently tilting his head to rest his cheek on the smooth surface. The Doctor approached him slowly, placing a hand on his shoulder. Sherlock shrugged it off. The Doctor bit his lip and nodded, he turned and made his way back to the TARDIS; Sherlock would know where to find him.

* * *

'_John'_

**Last night I had a dream**

'_John'_

**I heard a voice and it was calling my name.**

'_John'_

**I told Mycroft and Lestrade, and Sarah. Anyone else would think I was mad, but not those three. They believed it. Because they've met the Doctor, and they know Sherlock. So they listened to the dream. That night, we packed up, got into Lestrade's old Jeep, and off we went. Just like the dream said. We followed the voice. We kept on driving for miles and miles. Because he's calling. **

'_John'_

**Here I am, at last. And this is the story of how I died.**

John strolled across the moor, taking in his surroundings. He turned as a figure appeared behind him. Sherlock.

"Where are you?" he asked plainly.

"Inside the TARDIS," he replied. "According to him," he said nodding his head at another figure behind him who gave John a small smile and a wave, "there's, and I quote, 'one tiny little gap in the universe left' which is about to close."

"It takes a lot of power to send this projection," the Doctor interrupted, "we're in orbit around a supernova. I'm burning up a sun just so he can say goodbye," he smiled.

"Well, he always was a selfish git," John chuckled. He looked at them both, "You look like ghosts."

"Oh. Hold on," said the Doctor, fiddling with his Sonic Screwdriver until the hologram became clearer.

John stepped towards Sherlock and raised a hand, "I'm still just an image," said the latter, "no touch."

"Can't you come through properly?" John asked, biting his lip.

Sherlock shook his head and turned to the Doctor.

"The whole thing would fracture. Two universes would collapse." He said, folding his arms and knitting his eyebrows sympathetically.

"So?" said John and Sherlock in unison. They turned back to each other and smiled.

"Where are we?" Sherlock asked.

"Can't deduce it?" John smiled.

"Well, maybe. But I'd rather you told me. We haven't got that much time."

John frowned and looked up at his friend, "Oh. Dartmoor."

"Dartmoor?" asked the Doctor.

"Yes, Dartmoor."

Sherlock let out a chuckle, "Out of everywhere, we come out in_ Dartmoor_."

John laughed, "How long have we got?" he asked, his voice catching.

"About two minutes," said Sherlock.

John ran a hand through his hair. "I can't think of what to say," he said, shaking his head.

Sherlock ducked his head and smiled. He looked behind John to see three figures waiting there.

"At least you've still got Sarah," he said.

John nodded, "There's five of us now. Mycroft, Greg, Sarah and the baby."

"It's not-?" Sherlock's face twisted.

John smiled and shook his head, "No. Sarah's just a surrogate. For your brother, actually."

Sherlock raised his eyebrows, "Mycroft? A father? That makes me a-"

"An uncle, yes," John nodded, "Quite incredible, I know."

"Well- what about you? What are you..?" he asked.

"Just working in the surgery," John shrugged, "it's something to do at least."

Sherlock nodded, "You're dead. Officially. Back home."

John winced and brought a hand up to wipe across his face.

"But you're still here. Living. Breathing. Carrying on with life," Sherlock frowned, "I'm not sure what I'll do without my blogger," he smiled.

John pinched the bridge of his nose and took a shaky breath, "Am I ever going to see you again?" he asked, his voice breaking.

Sherlock shook his head, "You can't."

"But what are you going to do?" asked John.

"You know me. Danger. Adventure. Solving crimes. And I've always got the Doctor to annoy," he sniffed.

"Promise me you won't get bored and do something stupid."

Sherlock nodded, "Don't be dull, John. I could have predicted what you were about to say."

John turned to the Doctor, "Look after him."

"Will do," said the Doctor, "Goodbye John."

"Bye Doctor," he wiped his eyes quickly.

He turned back to Sherlock, "I've- I mean- I think I've always known it, but- I… I love you," he said quietly.

Sherlock closed his eyes and took a deep breath, "Quite right too," he said.

John nodded tightly and smiled.

"And I suppose," Sherlock started, "if it's my last chance to say it… John Hamish Watson-"

John let out a choked sob as Sherlock faded away. He knelt on the ground, dampness seeping through his trouser legs as he held his face in his hands, tears escaping down his cheeks.

* * *

The Doctor glanced over at Sherlock from the other side of the console.

"He knows," he said, watching a single tear roll down the other man's cheek, "He's always known."


	2. The Reichenbach Fall

The Doctor took a deep breath, turning away from the dead body lying on the rooftop behind him. He looked out over London, his long coat billowing in the wind. The sound of a car door slamming shut caught his attention and he looked down to see Rose, his Rose, walking towards the building. Taking a slim phone from his pocket, he dialled and lifted it to his ear, watching as his companion did the same.

"Hello?" came her voice, grainy through the speaker.

"Rose."

"Doctor. Are you okay?" she asked casually.

He blinked slowly, swallowing the lump in his throat.

"Turn around and walk back the way you came. Now."

"No," Rose paused, "I'm coming in," she said, looking around behind her.

"Just do as I ask. Please," the Doctor said quickly, his voice cracking.

Rose turned back, walking along the road, "Where?"

She kept walking, waiting, until an urgent "Stop there," came through the phone.

"Doctor?"

"Okay," he said, releasing a steady breath, "look up. I'm on the rooftop."

Rose frowned, looking up to see a tall figure standing on the edge of the roof of St Bartholomew's Hospital. A look of horror crossed her face as she breathed in sharply, "Oh God."

"I... I... I can't come down, so we'll- we'll just have to do it like this," he said.

Rose chewed on her lip nervously, "What's going on?"

"An apology," the Doctor said simply, "it's all true."

"Wh-what?"

"Everything they said about me. I invented the Master," he said turning to look once more at the grinning body behind him.

"Why are you saying this?" Rose said, shaking her head.

"I'm a fake," the Doctor spat, his voice breaking.

"Doctor..."

"The newspapers were right all along," he said, his eyes becoming wet, "I want you to tell Mickey, I want you to tell Pete and Jackie... In fact, tell anyone who will listen to you that I created the Master for my own purposes."

"Okay, shut up. Just shut up," Rose closed her eyes, rubbing her forehead, "I met the Master, he- he was a _Time Lord_."

"He was an actor."

"No, he wasn't," she said desperately, "you wouldn't lie to me."

The Doctor laughed, "I had to."

"No. No," the companion started walking towards the building, "All right, stop it now."

"No! Stay exactly where you are. Don't move!"

She halted suddenly, "Alright," she said, looking up worriedly at the figure.

The Doctor stretched out a hand, reaching for her, his breathing turning rapid.

"Keep your eyes fixed on me," he said, verging on wild, "Please, will you do this for me?"

"Do what?"

"This phone call- it's er, it's my note. It's what people do, don't they? Leave a note?" his voice had quietened, softened.

Rose's eyes widened slightly as she dropped her arm, still loosely cradling the phone. She took a small step backwards, visibly recoiling from the realisation that had just hit her. Raising the phone back to her ear, she spoke shakily, "Leave a note when?"

"Goodbye Rose."

"No. Don't."

The Doctor gazed down at Rose, before lowering his arm and chucking the phone down onto the roof. He brought his eyes back up to look straight ahead, wiping the moisture from them quickly.

The dialling tone rung out from Rose's phone as she dropped it with a crack of shattering plastic. She looked up at her friend, afraid to blink, "No. DOCTOR!" she screamed.

He raised his arms up, spreading them either side of his body as he fell forward, his body plummeting to the ground.

"Doc-"

The sound of the impact rang out through the streets as Rose stood, dumbstruck for a second, before running towards the corner of the building. She slowed, seeing the still figure lying on the pavement. She failed to see the bicycle coming towards her, slamming to the ground as it crashed into her side. Rose struggled to stay conscious, watching as a crowd began to gather around the body of her friend. She groaned as she slowly got to her feet, stumbling towards the pavement forcing herself towards him.

"Doctor, _Doctor_," she whispered.

Reaching the crowd, she pushed through, muttering mostly to herself "I'm his friend. Let me come through, no, please let me come through."

A paramedic moved towards her, blocking her path

"No. He's my friend. He's my friend, please," Rose said, as she numbly pushed past the paramedic.

Her knees gave out and she collapsed next to the body and reached out to grab its arm. A few members of the crowd came forward, attempting to pull her off as she felt for a pulse, anything just to show he was alive. This couldn't happen. He would regenerate, why wasn't he regenerating?

Two paramedics carefully rolled the body onto its back, revealing the cold, dead eyes and a face covered in blood. There was no cheeky grin; no wink, there was nothing of the Doctor she knew reflected in the matted hair or broken nose.

"Jesus, no," she breathed, trying to stand once more. She fell back against an onlooker, watching as her friend's body was placed on a stretcher and carried off through the doors of the hospital.

Rose stood properly, shaking off the people around her. She turned away from the hospital, her eyes empty, and began walking.


	3. The End of Time

"Alright, come on," Lestrade pulled at the sleeve of Sherlock's long coat and tugged him through the door. He dragged the other man across the room to a small table by the window and sat down, raising his eyebrows at Sherlock until he did the same.

"What's so special about this place?" Sherlock muttered impatiently. "We've passed fifteen cafés on the way!"

"Yeah, I know," Lestrade shrugged, picking up a small menu and glancing at it.

Sherlock sat back, his arms crossed and his shoulders hunched in. He bowed his head and stared at the floor. He jolted back when a hot mug of tea was placed in front of him and lifted his head to see Lestrade looking at him worriedly.

"I keep seeing things. His face. At night." The DI said, avoiding eye contact. "I can't imagine what it's like for you."

Sherlock eyed Lestrade for a long moment, "Who are you?" he asked, warily.

"Gregory Lestrade," the other man answered, a confused expression on his face.

"Greg." Sherlock nodded slowly, leaning forward, steepling his fingers under his chin. He shook his head suddenly, "No. People have been looking everywhere to find me. Moriarty, Mycroft. You manage it in a couple of hours."

"I'm just lucky, I s'pose," Lestrade chuckled.

Sherlock stared out of the window, a pained silence stretching between the two men. Lestrade swigged back the rest of his tea and pushed the empty mug to the edge of the table.

"I'm going to die." Sherlock said plainly, turning back to look at Lestrade.

"Well, so am I, one day." Lestrade said.

Sherlock shook his head and let out a deep breath, "Don't you dare," he said quietly.

Lestrade chuckled, "Alright, I'll try not to."

"I'm not going to last much longer. I can't stay hidden from him."

"Yes you can. Don't you dare give up, Sherlock Holmes. And anyway," he said lightly, "you've got me. Not that an old man's going to be much help. I'm not much use to anyone anymore."

Sherlock tried a smile, his mouth twitching slightly at the corners. It didn't quite reach his eyes.

"There's nothing left for me now. I only want to make sure I take him down with me," Sherlock's voice hardened.

The Consulting Detective frowned slightly, looking at Lestrade.

"I'd be proud," he said, sitting up properly.

"Of what?" Lestrade asked, confused once more.

"If you were my father. My 'old man'."

Lestrade looked down at the table, swallowing, "Oh come on, don't start," he said, his voice catching slightly. He looked out of the window again, his attention on something else.

"What?" Sherlock asked, turning to follow Lestrade's stare.

"I'm sorry, but I had to," Lestrade said as Sherlock's gaze locked on John's figure, limping down the street to the cash machine.

Sherlock stared, speechless.

"Look, can't you just go up to him?"

"Stop it." Lestrade was shocked to see Sherlock's eyes reddening, small pools of water gathering around the rims.

"No, but you haven't seen what he's like without you. Just go to him now. Go on, just run across the street and let him know you're still alive."

"I _can't_," Sherlock hissed, "it would put him in danger and he would never forgive me."

Lestrade watched as John failed to use the machine.

"_Fine! Yes, I've got it! Can you try to keep your voice down?" _

They both chuckled.

"He's not changed," Sherlock said, scratching at the corner of his eye.

"You'd be surprised- Oh, there she is. Mary Morstan - they're engaged. Getting married in the Spring."

Sherlock's eyebrows jumped up, "A wedding?"

"Yeah," Lestrade smiled sympathetically.

"Is he happy?" Sherlock asked, his eyes distant, "Is she nice?"

Lestrade nodded, still watching the couple. Mary had placed her arm on John's and was manipulating the machine for him. John was watching with a fond smile.

"She's sweet enough. Bit of a dreamer. Mind you, she's on minimum wage, he's earning tuppence, so all they can afford is a tiny little flat." The DI paused, as if debating whether or not to say more, "Sometimes, though, I see this look on his face. Like he's so sad."

"He's got her."

"Yes, well, he's making do."

Another silence stretched between them. Sherlock picked up his mug and drank the cold tea slowly. He looked tired. Tired and broken.

"What about you? Have you got anyone- anyone you can go to?"

Sherlock shook his head, "No. I thought it better to be alone. Safer," he shrugged. "But I did some things- it went wrong. I need..." His face crumpled. He brought his hands up to cover his face, his shoulders shaking.

"Oh, Sherlock," Lestrade leaned forward and put a hand on the other man's arm.

The Consulting Detective took a deep, steadying breath in an attempt to control himself.

"Merry Christmas," he said, bitterly.

"And a Happy New Year," Lestrade chipped in, his throat tight. A tear escaped down his cheek before he had the time to stop it.

They both looked at each other and chuckled.

"Look at us," Sherlock sighed.

"Don't you see?" Lestrade asked, pointing out of the window, "You _need _him, Sherlock. I mean, look, wouldn't he make you laugh again? Good old John."

Sherlock looked towards John and Mary as the pair made their way down the street. He sniffed once and straightened his coat, before standing up. He nodded once to Greg and made his way out of the café. Lestrade watched as Sherlock turned up the collar of his coat and walked briskly in the opposite direction to the couple. Sighing, he pulled out his wallet and made his way to the counter.


End file.
